


Impressionism

by corvidConstellation



Series: HDM!parx [1]
Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Airplane Conversations Era, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Anxiety Disorder, Childhood Friends, First Impressions, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Miscommunication, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22230730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidConstellation/pseuds/corvidConstellation
Summary: Do you ever wish you could tell yourself to shut up so that you don't ruin a first impression?Well, Awsten takes that to the extreme.(The obligatory fandom HDM/daemon fic.)
Relationships: Awsten Knight & Geoff Wigington & Otto Wood, Awsten Knight & Jawn Rocha, Awsten Knight & Travis Riddle
Series: HDM!parx [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755154
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick disclaimer: I'm not writing about their girlfriends or sisters or various personal connections, bc boundaries.

A long time ago, Awsten’s daemon settled as a little bird.  
  
It had nothing to do with his family, or his friends, or anything but him. It happened after school, when he’d stayed after hours and broken back into the music room to bask in the golden light of the afternoon sun. He sat on top of a pile of chairs stacked eight high, watched Fletcher morph from her preferred form (a house cat) into an orangutan, let her hand him one of the acoustic guitars, and sang to the beautifully-echoing acoustics of the empty room.  
  
Fletcher swapped into a hawk and flittered up to a high window sill, only to swap into a caiman and bask in the sun.  
  
Awsten’s voice wavered and he gave up on the words in favor of humming, because the warmth of the sun on her scales had simply been too all-encompassing.  
  
But still, Sum41’s words were important, and his voice needed the practice, so he went back into the words on the next chorus. He kept singing cover after cover in that room, opening his eyes only to watch two things; the colors, and Fletcher. The colors, because he hardly let himself pay attention to his synesthesia when he was the one making music. And Fletcher, because she really did love to bounce around the room in every form possible.  
  
She only did that when they were alone, when nobody stared, because she liked to shift shapes at almost every verse like it was a form of dance. Always connecting to the vibe of the song. For Blink 182, basset hound, hawk, wolverine, komodo dragon. During MCR, vulture, stallion, doberman. For Green Day, wildcat, a songbird—  
  
“Awsten. Awsten, stop!”  
  
Awsten jolted so hard he very nearly fell out of his seat and down the seven-foot drop he’d perched himself on. “What?”  
  
“I can’t switch back.”  
  
He blinked, looking for her. She fluttered up and landed on his knee. She was a slender little bird, that much was certain. She had super-long tail feathers, but beyond that, she didn’t seem to be any super-identifiable species. Her feathers melted from white to beige-brown to soft oranges with black-white patterns on every feather of the wings.  
  
“I think I just settled,” Fletcher said as she looked up at him with beady eyes.  
  
“You settled to a cover of Green Day?” Awsten had mumbled. Well, maybe a little inconvenient because he hates heights. He’d actually been pretty adamant about wanting anything but a fish or a bird. Still, it’s not like he can change anything about it now. As long as she doesn’t fly too far away from him… “Uh… Okay. What are you?”  
  
“I dunno. Maybe we should go to the library and look it up?”

“Look _you_ up?”  
  
Long story short, they did.  
  
Fletcher had settled as a scissor-tailed flycatcher, also known as a Texas Bird-of-Paradise. A kingbird.

* * *

A couple years later, for completely unrelated reasons, he ended up in therapy discussing it, though.

“I see your daemon is a bird. Might I ask what kind?” asked the school therapist.

“She’s a flycatcher,” Awsten said. “Local texan bird, actually.”

“I see. Are you happy with the way she settled?”

“Sure.”

The therapist had frowned. “That’s not very enthusiastic. Are you certain?”

“Are you suggesting that I have something to be ashamed of?” Awsten asked, frowning at the therapist with the sole intent of making him uncomfortable.

“Of course not. You just didn’t sound definitive.”

He leaned back in his chair and looks at Fletcher. Her, on his leg, one wing in a splint, looking anywhere else. “I used to not like it. When you’re six, all you can think about is how your soul is totally a lion or a wolf or whatever famous exotic animal. And then you’re fourteen and your soul ends up being a bird. Nobody wants to hear that they’re just _common_. Like, you just don’t want to admit it, I guess? That you’re less than. Something fragile, or uninteresting, or bland.”

“So you felt like that?”

“Sure. But I got over it. My best friend’s daemon settled as a hummingbird. It’s easier to overcome those, like, the stigmas that surround it when you’re doing it for someone else. I had to throw away some toxic mindsets in order to not be judging him, so I guess I’m lucky in that sense.”

“Stigmas?”

“Like, calling boys fairies for having small birds and not hawks. Another friend of mine has a daemon who’s a gecko, and people will _not_ leave them the fuck alone. People say you’re not manly enough,” Awsten shrugged. “But it’s convenient. My best friend and I abuse the shit out of it, cause when we go to concerts, we can go anywhere. His daemon can hover in place and Fletcher can usually turn on a dime, so they get the best seats in the house and we don’t have to worry about them getting stretched away or bumping into anyone or being stuffed in our clothes for safekeeping. It’s convenient.”

“I’m glad to hear that you made peace with your daemon.”

Awsten stared down at Fletcher and her wing that his own hand had intentionally snapped the week before when he yanked her out of flight.

Nobody from his family had pressed the issue of how her wing got broken, just rushed in when he screamed in twin pain with her and helped him to the hospital so they could fix her up. The only reason the school picked up on his instability was because a teacher had overheard Jawn and Travis giving him the _I’m-worried-about-you_ speech, and also overheard Awsten’s response of _chill-I-didn’t-hurt-her-that-bad_. Teachers have an obligation to report self-harm, though, and Awsten supposed that violence against your own daemon counts.

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “We get along great.”

* * *

But that was the past.

He’s gotten through those very emo stages and has since graduated from high school melodrama to college band drama. It’s a very fun upgrade.

He’s trying out new drummers now that Owen’s peaced out. He started passing out the ad in flyer form a while ago with no promise of money at all, and he’s gotten a few responses, mostly absolutely worthless. And— look, his standards aren’t  _ astronomical _ , but he can’t be in a band with shitty bass and shitty drums. Playing lead guitar and singing only takes a band so far if the entire rhythm section sucks ass.   
  
But the last dude he’s been looking at seems serious. The guy was excited from the second Awsten handed him the flyer, but he was one of the maybe five people that actually bothered to get in touch to try out. He sent in a demo reel over MySpace with an mp3 file of straight drums for fifteen minutes with faint backing music like it’s being played from a computer speaker. The guy plays drums for a couple Fall Out Boy songs and then a jazz song Awsten doesn’t know and then a recent pop song. He sounds decent, assuming it isn’t doctored. It’s hard to tell, because this guy apparently doesn’t have an email, or a Facebook, or a Linkedin, or fucking anything, apparently. Still, he doesn’t want to pass up a half-decent drummer when all he’s got it kids who want a hobby. [A]   
  
So, he sends a message back asking when he can meet, and he leaves his phone number and strict instructions to text if he’s serious.   
  
The guy does text, and offers to meet at a fucking Guitar Center. Awsten laughs as he responds with a yes.   
  
When the day comes, he’s still chuckling about it even as he walks into the Guitar Center.   
  
“Otto Wood?” Awsten asks when he gets to the area with the drum kits and there’s one guy standing there wringing his hands.   
  
“Hey, yeah that’s me,” the guy says with a nervous smile. Awsten should really call him a kid, though, since this kid doesn’t look any older than Awsten himself. “You’re— like, the lead singer, right? From Waterparks?”   
  
“You were— I’m Awsten Knight. Were you in The Blue Poptarts for, like, a second?” [2]

Otto’s eyes widen. “Shit, you’re that frontman! You cut your hair.”

Awsten feels a slight blush hit his cheeks, but he keeps his expression relaxed. “Yeah. Now you kinda look like me.” [3]

“… is that what you’re looking for in a bandmate?”

“I’m looking for someone who can play.”   
  
“Well I can do that,” Otto nods. “What do you want me to play?”   
  
“Whatever you think will impress me,” Awsten says, because really the honest answer would have been  _ ‘I don’t know, what do you want to play?’ _   
  
“Sure thing,” he says. Otto walks over, and Awsten catches a glimpse of his daemon, who seems to have settled. She’s some rare feline, orange and large and too oddly-shaped to be a domestic cat. Kinda looks like a fox fucked a tabby cat. She slips behind the kick drum and Awsten loses visual. Meanwhile, Otto rolls his shoulders, lifts his sticks, and starts up perfect sixteenth-notes on the hi-hat at a fair-paced tempo, accenting every few beats.   
  
Awsten blinks, because even that alone is better technical skill than he’s seen in every other auditioner combined. It might even beat out Owen. But still, he draws himself back, because you can’t build a band on cymbal tapping.   
  
On the drums, Otto does not fail to take off from his technical start. Awsten was worried he would stick to hi-hat and snare, neglecting every other aspect except for fills, but he launches into some song that’s unrecognizable without additional music, but clearly has a driving beat and some variety in it. It alternates between quiet cymbal-intense sections and loud hits of snare. During the chorus, though, the rhythm goes back and forth between predictable on-beat hits and wilder, louder, off-beat patterns. Not once does he hesitate, or miss a beat, or drop the tempo until the very end where he intentionally slows the last couple beats before turning it into a roll and looking up for approval.   
  
Awsten fights the urge to clap. “Which song was that?”   
  
The kid’s cheeks go rosy. “Uh. Are you gonna call me a nerd if I tell you it was Party Poison by MCR?”   
  
Awsten grins, and decides that is acceptable to be a nerd for a couple of seconds. “Our speed is probably more Three Cheers or Bullets than Danger Days, but that’s not a bad pick to show off skill.”   
  
“So it was okay, then?”   
  
Well, he can’t deny that it’s better than any alternative he’s had. This guy knows enough about rhythm to write his own parts, probably. Awsten would like to jump for it, but there’s a chance that this kid sucks as a person, and he’s reluctant to jump straight into  _ trust _ . Even if his voice is a kind of pretty, friendly, shiny pastel yellow that makes Awsten want to trust him instantly. Even if Awsten already does. He can’t let it show—

He just can’t.

  
He’s done looking like a kid.   
  
“What’s her name?” Awsten asks, glancing down at the kick drum.   
  
“Oh,” Otto says, looking down too. “She’s Terraxir. She doesn’t talk a lot. Neither do I, usually.”   
  
“Well, I’m Awsten, this is Fletcher, and you’re now on official trial period for Waterparks. Congrats.”

* * *

Unfortunately, Otto isn’t going to the college that Awsten got in to (or any college), but they are the same age. That’s not the worst thing, though, because everyone Awsten knows would like him to focus less on music and more on school, and historically, bandmates who go to school with him haven’t worked out.

Except for Jawn.

Except, Jawn didn’t really _stay_ a bandmate, so scratch the exception.

Jawn is Awsten’s best-friend-slash-soulmate. Awsten tells him everything— or, more accurately, Awsten bitches and tells stories, and Fletcher does the heart-to-heart shit. It’s kind of poetic, the way that Jawn is the only person who his soul will talk to for more than a few sentences these days. Then again, Jawn’s the only person outside of his family who’s ever touched his soul, girlfriends included. He’s touched Jawn’s daemon too, of course, because it’s not a one-sided thing. Damara has impossibly shiny feathers, and a heartbeat that pumps synced to Jawn’s, but quintupled, but Jawn assures him every time that hummingbird hearts are meant to go that fast. They tell each other everything that matters, and everything that doesn’t matter too, just for good measure.

Needless to say, Jawn hears about Otto.

“I told him about the EP and he apparently downloaded iTunes on his computer just to download Airplane Conversations. I believe it, too; I’ve seen his fuckin’ flip phone,” Awsten says while they catch up. “And he’s good at playing. Better than Owen, I think.”

“Does he have a nice color?” Jawn asks.

Bless Jawn for knowing what’s _important_ about a first impression. For Awsten, the colors of a person according to his synesthesia are often just as crucial to his opinion of them as any tangible physical attribute. Jawn’s own color changes a bit over time, started with purple and maroon and shifted to a dark navy and now it’s a desaturated lavender so dark it might as well be black like his hair. Awsten usually hates when people ask what color he sees for different people, but Jawn isn’t asking because it’s a cool tidbit. He’s asking because he knows how important colors are to Awsten for perceiving people. “He does. It’s… I don’t know how to describe it perfect. Yellow. Muted yellow. Some pastel, some murky, but not a gross brown or anything. It’s soft.” [4]

“Nice,” Jawn says. “So basically, you like your new friend?”

“Who said that?” Awsten asks. “I don’t need a friend, I need someone who can play my music.”

Jawn purses his lips in slight unnoticed disapproval.

“I do like him, though,” Awsten says absently while he thinks. “I think things are gonna work out with him.”

* * *

  
  
In the past, Awsten was pretty diehard about getting shows and getting his current band’s name out there. It was mostly due to Awsten’s resilience, if he’s honest, because he wasn’t above calling venue organizers and asking if they need openers for their acts. Playing every show he could get permission for, getting used to singing in front of people, and walking away from gigs gone right and wrong is something he’s used to. But at the end of the day, he’d been rushing it.

He doesn’t want to do that any more, so he doesn’t. He wants quality from Waterparks. He’s putting out his music online and setting up practice times, and he knows that the songs he’s writing are good. With time and practice, they’ll be better than the half-baked performances he’d been doing for years. He’s well on his way, too.

The only problem is…  
  
“Okay, problem. We don’t sound great, actually,” he tells Otto one day as they drive to Otto’s house, forty minutes away from Awsten’s own.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean, in band practice we sound like _okay_ . ‘Okay’ is not an acceptable quality of music. We need to kick Gage out.”  
  
“Can we even do that? Won’t he—“  
  
Awsten cuts Otto off with a sharp glare, because of course he _can_ , Awsten can do whatever the fuck he wants, and Otto should know that by now. He resumes driving, still gritting his teeth.  
  
In the back, Terra clears her throat. She’s back there because she’s the size of a dog, and she doesn’t comfortably fit up front with Otto. Awsten’s still not, like, 100% sure what species of cat she is, but it would be more awkward to ask now. Regardless, Awsten meets her eyes in the rearview mirror. “All he means is that we thought Gage was your friend.”  
  
“It’s not about that,” Fletcher says. “It doesn’t feel right. He’s not good at bass, and he’s distracting, and he’s not fun to hang with anymore. I know the bass slides were cute at first, but I’m fucking _sick_ of him trying to light us on fire and Isra putting all our picks in her wool. They’re acting like they’re divas and they’re untouchable. I mean, I know we’re not famous, but somehow it’s already gotten to his head.” [5]  
  
“Like, who the _fuck_ gets a big head when we don’t even have an album yet?” Awsten continues, picking up where she left off. “It’s dumb. It’s conceited— and more importantly, it’s making us worse. We’re good, Otto, _actually_ good. You and I could make it if we play it right. But he’ll never be any better until he puts in the effort. And that’s not gonna happen, so he has to go.  
  
When he glances over, Otto’s chewing on his lip. “I know,” Otto mutters. “But how do you bring that up? How do you cut off the founder?”  
  
“I’ll handle that,” Awsten says. “I’ll work it out, and we’ll be fine. As long as you’re still in.”  
  
“… Yeah, I’m in.”

He doesn’t realize until hours later that that was the first time Fletcher had ever spoken in Otto’s presence.

Of course, he concludes, she’s too open. Awsten can pull off a poker face, but she can’t. Fletcher is incapable of shutting up around Jawn and Travis, and she’ll gladly chat for hours and hours, often accidentally spilling secrets and oversharing. They’re both attention whores, but the fact that she can’t help herself is a bit of a problem.

So Awsten tells her not to talk to anyone in the band. And sure, it hurts to get into a fight with your daemon, but he and she have a long history of hating each other. This is just a new twist on an old fight.

* * *

  
  
So, Awsten kicks Gage out.  
  
Awsten makes sure it won’t be a problem for Otto, too, because he keeps his promises and shit. He tells Gage to fuck off somewhere else, learn bass or don’t, but don’t show up any more, not to practice, not to shows, and not to either of their homes. He feels adult. He feels awful. (He doesn’t like being mean, or being so cruel, but this is the cool guy persona he’s building, and Gage really needed to go.)

And then he gets over it. And _then_ he makes a new advert, because a band can’t be two people. Not without a shit ton of backing tracks that Awsten really doesn’t want to deal with. He’s gonna need a bassist, and he wants someone who can actually play this time.  
  
He gets a text later that week from Bradley, who’s a dude in the local music scene that Awsten’s met on and off at tiny shows for a few years. He’s a few years older, but he let Awsten hang out even when he had been a complete loser, so somewhere in his mind Awsten feels like he still owes Bradley his entire street cred. There’s a dozen memories of sneaking into shows and hopping chain fences and crashing on his couch when home was too far. Hell, he’s run a merch table for Bradley before. Bradley plays bass for a punk band full of chicks, or at least he did, because the text sitting in Awsten’s messages reads:

>   
>  **hey, u finally kick gage out?** **  
> ** **sounds like u need sm1** **  
> ** **  
> ** **YEA SUP** **  
> ** **R U OFFERING?** **  
> ** **WHAT HPPNED W/ SHINY NITES?** **  
> ** **  
> ** **we should meet n talk**

  
He calls Otto.  
  
“What’s up?” Otto asks.  
  
“I think I have someone for bass,” Awsten says. “You cool with a dude that’s older than us and listens to punk?”  
  
“Punk’s cool. How old we talkin?”  
  
“Mid twenties.”

“Yeah that’s cool,” Otto says, and that’s the end of that.

* * *

They meet at a Starbucks, because it’s cheap and easy to walk away from if things don’t work out. Awsten sips his coffee. Bradley already said the _‘hi’s_ and the _‘oh, you’re in college now?’_ s and the _‘that’s neat’_ s that you’re supposed to say when you catch up with someone, so now Awsten waits for the main event. He watches Fletcher stand on the edge of the table, and then when he’s had enough of the gap between greeting formalities and awkward silence, he breaks it. “So? What happened?”  
  
Bradley winces with his whole face. Even Lystaev on his shoulder covers her face in her little lemur hands.  
  
“Come on. You love punk. And you never bail if it’s not awful. There’s no way you’re switching to rock for no reason,” Awsten says. He’s pretty confident in this, because he’s seen Bradley stick out a whole show with a broken nose because he’s stubborn about not leaving before he’s through.  
  
“Band drama got too much,” Bradley says. His voice is the same rusty orange color it’s always been. “I thought it would blow over, but Devin and Allie hooked up and— look, I’ve got no problem with lesbians, but it’s an issue when Morgan is Devin’s on-again-off-again. I’m not _that_ committed to the band.”  
  
Awsten nods sympathetically. “So you’re out?”  
  
“Shiny Nights can find a new bassist. I’m yours if you want. Oh, and I know you like to play guitar, but I’ve got someone for you.”  
  
“One old man in the band is enough,” Awsten argues instinctively. “The drummer and I are still just nineteen.”  
  
“He’s just twenty-two.”  
  
“Fuckin’ ancient. Who is he?” Awsten asks, knowing full well that Bradley’s, like twenty-three max.  
  
“Here,” Bradley says, pulling out his phone and opening it. “This is his Facebook page. You can look it up on your own or use my phone, I’m pretty sure he’s got it public. I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette.”  
  
“Have fun getting cancer,” Fletcher chirps.  
  
“Have fun stalking a stranger,” Lystaev retorts as they pass by.  
  
Awsten watches Bradley walk out the door before he grabs for the phone on the table. Fletcher hops closer.  
  
“So. Geoff Wigington,” Awsten mumbles.  
  
“He looks scene,” Fletcher comments as Awsten scrolls. “Like he’d wear eyeliner to go to shows.”  
  
Awsten grunts; she’s right, but outwardly agreeing risks her calling him out on dressing the same way half the time. The guy on the screen has hair that looks windswept and messy, and he has bags under his eyes, and he has— “God, he’s actually wearing a choker in this one.”  
  
“Like I said. Scene,” Fletcher says.  
  
“At least he’s smiling in them? Maybe he’s not a total downer,” Awsten mumbles, trying to play devil’s advocate. In all the photos and selfies, there’s a dalmation in the background. People with dog daemons are supposed to be friendly and loyal and junk, if you buy into that symbolism stuff. “Bet he has a livejournal.”  
  
“We don’t need a guitarist. _You’re_ a guitarist. We’re doing just fine in that department.”  
  
“Yeah,” Awsten nods.  
  
A couple minutes later, Bradley comes back in and takes his phone back. “So yeah. What’s the verdict?”  
  
“You’re in,” Awsten says. “He’s not.”  
  
“Come on,” Bradley says. “Don’t be like that, Knight. I wouldn’t bring you someone who couldn’t play. When’s rehearsal?”  
  
“Saturdays, but listen. Don’t bring this dude to my house,” Awsten says with narrowed eyes. [6]  
  
Bradley smiles.  
  


* * *

  
  
So it turns out that Bradley’s a cheeky motherfucker who can’t follow directions, because next band practice, he shows up with Choker Boy in tow.  
  
“You son of a bitch,” Awsten says, upon opening the door.  
  
Bradley smiles. “We’re here and ready to learn. You wouldn’t turn away half your bandmates, would you?”  
  
Awsten squints hard at him, but he needs a bassist, so he opens the door. “Hope you brought your own amps, motherfuckers.”  
  
He walks back to the living room and sits on his own amp, next to Otto’s drum kit. Otto perks up at him. “Oh, hey. This is the punk bassist?”  
  
“And his friend. Otto, meet Bradley and company.”  
  
“Howdy. I’m Geoff,” the friend says with a smile. Awsten looks carefully at Choker Boy as he sets down his amp and his guitar case and starts looking for a place to plug it all in. He’s wearing a denim jacket and no actual choker, but his hair still looks blow-dried to perfection, so Awsten’s still pretty sure this guy’s a tryhard. This concept is reinforced by the general presence of his daemon, a dalmation who is nosing through the guitar case. She actually grabs his guitar cord in her teeth and sets it atop the amp before fiddling with the amp’s settings with her nose. Then again, people with dog daemons are always overachievers.

Fletcher flies from a cupboard in the corner to Awsten’s knee. They stare at each other, Awsten raising his eyebrows. She fluffs out her feathers and flies over to rest on Otto’s hi-hat.

Soon, they’re going through Bones. Awsten spends a lot of time explaining chords and timing, breaking it down more than necessary because he doesn’t want Geoff stepping on his toes.  
  
Still, when they finish talking and try out what they’ve been discussing, Geoff plays chord-for-chord, even transposing it to high-fret chords so he’s not just doubling up on Awsten’s power chords. Awsten sings staring at Geoff’s hands, transfixed for a moment. He meets Fletcher’s eye, but she’s surprised too, because she _is_ him, and they both unanimously underestimated Geoff from the get-go. He turns to Otto, because Otto might have actual insight, but Otto’s so lost in the music that he’s nodding along. For another verse, he watches Geoff, but he starts listening in on Bradley too. It’s hard, because they’re playing and the sound is so bright that it’s hard to look through the bright pink-orange-green of the song and find the threads of black that make up the bassline. Bradley’s not… playing wrong. He’s hitting the notes, all on time, all the right ones. It’s a marked improvement from Gage. But he’s not doing much more than walking up the notes between chords. He’s basically just pedaling the bass note of whatever chord it is. Whatever, though, Awsten didn’t ask for more than chord memorization.  
  
When the song ends, Awsten takes a long drink of water to avoid talking for another few seconds. He finishes, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and says, “okay, notes. We, like, deffo need to switch up the comp of the guitars if you’re really gonna stick around. You’ll need to be playing most of it so I can focus on singing, but when I play, I’ll hold down the chords so you can shred or whatever.”  
  
Geoff lights up, his daemon starts wagging her tail. They look like Awsten just promised to take them to Disneyworld.  
  
He shakes his head. “Chill out. I’m not trusting you to write parts yet, that’ll be me. This is all assuming you _can_ shred anyway. Let’s start with scales and see where you’re at. Otto, Brad, take a break, we’ll be a bit.”  
  
Geoff sits down on his amp and his daemon curls up at his feet while Otto gets up to show Brad the kitchen. Geoff, for his part, is still fucking smiling. “You sound really good. I’m happy to be doing this. It’ll be fun to jam to once I get them all down.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll write up chord charts for you to practice later,” Awsten says.  
  
“Really?” Geoff asks. “That’d be awesome. Do you have demos? Or a recording?”  
  
“Yeah. Our EP is out a bunch of places, but as far as unreleased stuff, all the demos are all on my devices. I have, like, voice memos on my phone.”  
  
Geoff opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it, closes his mouth, nods, and says, “cool.”  
  
“Yeah. Show me a major pentatonic scale.”  
  
Geoff plays it cleanly and quick, from the first fret on the low E to the fifteenth fret on the high E.  
  
“Major scale on seventh fret?” Awsten asks, trying to sound encouraging and like this isn’t a test (it absolutely is, but he’s trying not to be an absolute dick).  
  
Geoff plays it easily.  
  
“Can you sweep it?”  
  
Geoff takes a second, his fingers fluttering over the frets without touching, but the sweep comes across the top few strings and makes a quick arpeggio out of the scale.  
  
Awsten hums. Geoff’s actually fucking good, which was not what he was expecting.  
  
“Was that okay?” Geoff asks.  
  
”Yeah, you’re good,” Awsten admits, getting flashbacks of his mini-audition for Otto. He’s struck with the sudden notion that Geoff might be as much of an asset to the band as Otto, and that’s like a brick to the head, because Awsten thought _he_ was supposed to be the guitarist, and Geoff’s presence threatens to box him into rhythm guitar only. But he looks at Fletcher and knows she’ll argue that Awsten cares about band success and singing more than playing guitar anyway, and she’ll ask what it matters who’s playing as long as they’re talented and it’s his music. He still can’t stop himself from asking, “Do you write songs, Geoff?”  
  
“Not really,” Geoff shrugs. “I write parts mostly. I can improv a solo, or noodle over chords for days, but making a song from scratch is… I’m not so sure about that.”  
  
Awsten thinks, _good. Very good._ He says, “that’s alright. Not a deal-breaker.”  
  
He thinks, _this might work._ _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This is in various interviews, but Otto apparently really hates social media? Timestamp at 3:00 for when they talk about it. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9JtsOh6PKI  
> [2] They were in a band, it was real. And, mind you, Jawn was the fucking guitarist.  
> [3] Check this video at 2:30 for discussion abt meetings and looks and stuff. https://youtu.be/qoz-o3Tjkdo  
> [4] Nobody should be allowed to forget when they decided to look like this. https://i.pinimg.com/736x/22/85/94/228594fb97dd2202da251db384a1421e.jpg  
> [5] Gage was just Like That™ apparently? https://talknerdywithus.com/2012/06/interview-with-waterparks/  
> [6] Same interview, but Awsten literally almost kicked Geoff out from the start? Timestamp at 1:11. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9JtsOh6PKI


	2. Chapter 2

“He wears too much green. And I mean, like, every time I’ve ever seen him, it’s green or black tee shirts. And denim jackets. But his voice is blue? _He’s_ blue. It’s fucking with me. And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that he’s _good_.”

“He’s... good,” Jawn repeats skeptically.

“Uh-huh,” Awsten nods.

“So you’re freaking out.”

“Strong words,” Awsten says, but he doesn’t outright deny it either.

“You’re freaking out because someone who is good at guitar is now in your band,” Jawn says. “And he happens to be very nice and he wants to impress you.”

“Seems that way, yeah,” Awsten nods.

Jawn shakes his head and looks down to the textbook he’s trying to study from. “Man…”

“Being guitarist was kinda my thing,” Awsten shrugs. “Seems like he’s my replacement.”

“Yeah, _kind of_?” Jawn exclaims, quirking his eyebrow. “Except you’re the lead singer, and he looks up to you, and you’re still the songwriter, _and_ you’re still playing rhythm guitar, so you’re not being replaced at all, actually?”

Awsten blinks slowly. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Has it crossed your mind that you’re being a little too controlling with this band?” Jawn asks. They’re on campus, so they can’t really have a real soul-baring heart-to-heart in the middle of the dining hall, but Jawn likes to try and offer solutions when Awsten vents out his problems regardless of location or setting.

“Just because I get worried doesn’t mean—“

“No, of course it doesn’t, but has the band actually been fun to do?”

“Sure,” Awsten says quickly. “Or— well, it’s fun to teach them the songs. And when they play it right, it’s good. It looks like it should.”

“Are they having fun?”

Awsten blinks a few times. He hadn’t considered that. “Huh.”

* * *

That weekend at the end of rehearsal, Awsten makes a spontaneous announcement that he thinks they should hang out sometime and do something other than play music.

Which is why they’re now at Otto’s house in the middle of a weird, distant Huston neighborhood on a weeknight instead of at Awsten’s on a Saturday. They’re staying up and chatting and watching music videos and Geoff and Brad and Otto keep playing Mario Kart on Otto’s Wii, trying to convince Awsten to join their video game cult.  
  
“It’s not that it’s a bad thing for you,” Awsten defends, after having been accused of being one of those millennials who agrees with old people in the belief that video games make you violent. “It’s just— on a daily basis? It’d be a waste of time for me.”  
  
“Zelda has saved my life,” Geoff says, “on multiple occasions.”  
  
“What occasions?” Otto asks.  
  
“Several,” Geoff says nondescriptly.  
  
“Motherfucker, who banana'd the exact corner I was rounding?” Brad demands to know.  
  
“No comment,” Geoff mutters.  
  
Awsten tunes out, because he can hear a faint little conversation a few feet away.  
  
“Really? Not even party games?” Terra is asking.  
  
“Really, no. Unless you count cards,” Fletcher says.  
  
Awsten sits up to watch, because the others are all focused on the television and not their daemons. But he happens to know that he _specifically told Fletcher not to talk to the others_.  
  
“We have apps on our phone. Like, Fruit Ninja and stuff,” Fletcher shrugs.

“That’s not for real games,” Terra mumbles. “Otto and I only have a flip phone. We’d rather play DS any day.”

Fletcher tilts her head. “Why is this a big deal?”  
  
“Because games are my _life_ ,” Geoff’s daemon exclaims. Awsten’s not sure what her full name is, but Geoff always calls her Vir, and they've just been copying that. “Geoff and I have been playing Nintendo since we could walk. Mario Kart was our first game.” [1]  
  
“Oh, Pokémon too?” Terra asks.  
  
“Absolutely,” Vir nods. “Were you a Squirtle or a Charmander person?”  
  
“Otto always liked Pikachu. But, if you pressed me, Squirtle.”  
  
“But Charmander’s a _classic_ !”  
  
“Sorry,” Fletcher interrupts. “I just wanna know something - and I’m asking this genuinely - why is it _important_ ?”  
  
The two other daemons go quiet. Awsten shifts in his seat to look at them, but they’re just sitting, looking pensive.  
  
“For Geoff and I,” Vir starts, “it was like for a second, we were somewhere else. Someone else. Someone important, who mattered, who wasn’t just doing trivial things. And no matter what happened, games always, _always_ gave you a way to move forward.“  
  
“Don’t you feel that too?” Terra asks. “When you listen to music? That feeling of experiencing something you’ve never felt before?”  
  
“Yeah. But I’ve never thought I _was_ the singer,” Fletcher mumbles.  
  
“Well, it’s just another way to get whisked away. Some kids have books. Others have this,” Vir says. “You should make Awsten learn how to play Smash. It’d be so much fun. Back when I could shapeshift, I loved being a monkey so I could play against Geoff. I know Geoff wants to play with Awsten.”  
  
“Awsten wants to play too,” Fletcher says quietly, like she’s betraying a secret. And she is. [2]  
  
Awsten stands up, already walking away. “Fletch. Let’s get some water.”  
  
Fletcher has to scramble to keep up so that they don't hurt from the distance. She flies hurriedly into the kitchen behind him. She’s not _really_ scared of him and she never has been - not even when he broke her wing, because he felt the pain the same way he did - but she still shrinks in on herself when she sets down on Otto’s counter.  
  
“Make some new _friends_ ?” Awsten sneers.  
  
“Stop being a brat. They’re nice.”  
  
“They work for us.”  
  
“Oh my god, they don’t _work for us_ , they’re bandmates. Just because you write the songs and manage band affairs doesn’t mean we can’t be friends!” Fletcher hisses.  
  
Awsten shakes his head. “We’re not friends, though. We’re bandmates. That’s _it_ .”  
  
“But we could be. What are we so afraid of?” Fletcher whispers. “Jawn’s right. You know, if we try to make them coworkers, they’re never gonna be close. We’re never going to have fun making an album.”  
  
“Let’s get good enough to have an album first,” Awsten says. “We need to focus. It’s okay if they like us, but they don’t need to know us.”

“It’s not fair,” she says, “that I’m not allowed to talk to anyone.”

“Oh, grow up,” he growls. “We’re the same person. You can live vicariously through me because we’re the fucking same entity. What matters is the music, and how well they play. We’re here to teambuild and to follow Jawn’s advice, not to host a playdate for you. Now come on. I’ll play a round of whatever game if you shut the fuck up, _alright_ ?”  
  
Fletcher flinches and falls silent.  
  
“Okay,” Awsten sighs. “Let’s go raise the morale.”

* * *

Sometimes, he’ll stumble his way to Travis’s campus and call him only when he’s at the gates.

“I’m outside,” Awsten says as soon as Travis picks up. “Let me in.”

“Jesus,” Travis grumbles.

“Ooh. Is that the code word I need to get into your good-boy Catholic school?” [3]

“I’m assuming you’re at the usual side gate. Stay put,” Travis orders. “I’ll be down in two minutes.”

“Better hurry, or I’ll start asking people if they’d like to hear about satanism just to see their reactions,” Awsten says quickly before Travis hangs up. He sighs, waiting for Travis and Fyrmah, because all this being rude to bandmates shit has made him miss his real friends, and none of the real friends mind when he imposes on them with zero warning. Or— well, they do mind, but only in the superficial annoyance way. If they really meant it, they’d be long gone by now.

Someone clears their throat. Awsten turns and smiles as he sees Travis through the metal bars. “Mr. Knight.”

“Trav, hey,” Awsten grins. “Wanna let me crash with you?”

“I have a suitemate, a twin size bed, and a three-thousand-word essay on precision of language due at midnight,” Travis says, though he steps forward and pushes the heavy metal door open so that Awsten can come in.

“None of those are a problem for me,” Awsten says. He slips into the gated area with a smile. But then he lets his eyes wander over Travis and he frowns. “Where’s Fearmonger?”

“She’s in the stairwell,” Travis says. “It’s too cold out for her and I wasn’t gonna put on a jacket just to let you in.”

Awsten nods. Only about fifty feet away. Fyrmah and Travis have always had an abnormally long range, so it’s not uncommon for Travis to walk around without her. Just a little unsettling when most people would be on the floor screaming in agony if they were separated that far. Then again, Travis isn’t most people. “So can I stay the night?”

“If you’re okay with me ignoring you, yeah,” Travis shrugs. He waves for Awsten to follow and then starts walking across the sidewalk towards his dorm building.

“Can Fletch talk to Fyr while you work?” Awsten asks. “Or is that too distracting?”

“Nah, that’s fine,” he says. “Do I get to know why you’re giving me a surprise visit on a Tuesday night?”

“We haven’t hung out,” Awsten shrugs.

Travis uses his student ID card to swipe them into the dormitory stairwell. Inside, sitting on the railing, is a leopard gecko. Fyrmah. Without effort, Travis scoops her into one hand and makes for the third floor, where his room is.

A few minutes later, Awsten finds himself lying on Travis’s bed while Travis busies himself at his desk, reviewing drafts on his laptop and his notebook and his scratch paper alike. Then again, he didn’t come here to talk to Travis. He came so Fletcher could talk to Fyr. Which is kind of the same difference. Awsten looks over at the two of them, sitting in the windowsill.

“Some professors here are so shitty,” Fyr complains. “They’ll leave for weeks unannounced with no sub, or give us our essay prompts two fucking days before it’s due, or deduct participation points if I’m not visibly on the table and paying attention, or manually fail a student if they miss even three classes.”

“Yikes, dude,” Fletcher mutters.

“Yeah. It’s bullshit. But you best believe I’m sitting on every table if it’ll get us points,” Fyr says. “I’m sure later classes will tank our GPA, so we gotta keep our grades decent for as long as we can before that happens, or our scholarship is good as gone. And then we’ll be in debt forever and it just sucks, y’know?”

“You chose to go to private school,” Fletcher says. “Lay in the grave you dug, bitch.”

“Shut up, whore. Some of us are actually invested in our academic careers. Does Awsten even do any school work, or do you do all the research?”

“He pulls his weight,” Fletcher says. “We’re passing all our classes.”

“The advantage of thumbs,” Awsten says with a brief smile.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Fyr says. “You’re not smarter than her. And he’s not smarter than me. I could maintain our grades alone if I had to.”

“Good luck carrying your books around,” Fletcher jokes.

“That’s all humans are good for, honey. Thumbs and carrying stuff. I’d have severed if it weren’t ten kinds of illegal,” Fyr says. She’s joking, even if her tone doesn’t make that clear at all.

“See, you say stuff like _that_ and then wonder why your nickname is Fearmonger.”

“I always thought it was a bad play on my name’s pronunciation.”  
  
“It’s _both_. Don’t be so narrow-minded.”

Awsten closes his eyes and enjoys the moment. Simultaneous duality of peaceful, amicable silence and easy, friendly chatter. Travis’s fingers clack on his keys accented by his page-flips. (Little bursts of pale purple-gray and waves of sepia.) Fyr continues ranting about how annoying private colleges are. (Threads of orange, the same orange as Travis’s voice, but shaded deeper than usual as her bitchiness darkens the color.) Fletcher occasionally pipes up, content to listen and be amused by Fyr. (Her color changes periodically much like his own, but recently it’s been dark grays and blues.)

It’s familiar enough for him to drift off into sleep.

He wakes up hours later when Travis clicks his light off and nudges at him, but he just rolls over and lets Travis slide under the covers next to him. Travis is warm where his arms touch Awsten's back and he can feel Fletcher even warmer as she and Fyr curl up on a heating pad.

* * *

Slowly, he’s begun to write a new set of songs. Well, he’s always writing, technically. His typical process is this:

He’ll throw passing poetic thoughts into the notes of his phone and try to assemble them like jigsaw puzzles later. It’s like operation; it’s like a blank coloring book. With enough time and patience, he can pick lines and make them his outline, and from there he can fill in the gaps with a cohesive message he wants to sing about. He has fragments of his thoughts from moments of his life, some of which he’ll never remember the origin of. But it’s enough to pull inspiration from, and that’s what matters.

That is how he usually writes songs, because he hates writing dishonest music. If he’s going to sing these songs for years, they need to have merit. It usually works, except for now, because all his fragments scream “ _IMPOSTER SYNDROME_ ” in neon. And that’s not even an exaggeration. Every way he hums the words he’s written audibly, their color is so bright and glaringly abrupt in both saturation and luminescence that they’re giving him a headache.

His mouth twists as he drops his head into his hands. “I hate this. I hate what we’re doing. I want to stop.”

Fletcher sighs. “We can’t.”

“Why?” Awsten asks, lifting his head to look at her. “We can’t do this forever. It’s consuming me. I can’t even write like this. If all we ever do is act like a hotshot, when are we ever going to be real? And isn’t that why we ran to music in the first place?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she says. “You can’t turn on a dime and start acting like a kid. You need to be their lead, or this band will never get anywhere. They need direction, or they’ll give up.”

“Does it matter if the music we make is dishonest for it?” Awsten asks.

“We share a soul,” she says firmly. “You’re fighting with yourself. We’ve had this same argument the other way around a dozen times. It doesn’t matter what we want. Practicality demands something else.”

“Then why do we keep asking? Why can’t we just fucking do it without guilt, if we’re so sure?” Awsten demands, staring at her. “Eyes are the window to the soul, they say, so how can we stare at each other and not be on the same page?”

Fletcher is staring back, but she looks sad somehow. “We need to be strong, Awsten. We need to survive, and not wreck ourselves. Music is all there is for us, so we need to do what’s gotta be done. That includes keeping our distance.”

Awsten holds his breath, hoping she’ll say something more. Hoping she’ll admit to this loneliness that they’ve self-imposed. But, at the end of the day, she’s a part of him, and she already knows every argument he has. “Right,” he says finally, his shoulders sagging as he deflates. “We kinda deserve to be messed up over this. Karma, and all.”

“Let’s write a song about it.”

They write a rough outline of American History’s chorus and leave it to rot in their drafts folder.

* * *

  
  
It’s a couple weeks after that that things come to a head with Bradley.  
  
He’s finished singing the _I’m fighting for you-_ s and he’s listening to Geoff and Bradley play the intro to the bridge, except the funny thing is that only Geoff is playing. So, he turns around and sure enough, Bradley isn’t at his bass, he’s in the window behind Otto, smoking on Awsten’s back porch.  
  
And _that’s_ fucking frustrating, because Awsten fights tooth and nail to kick his family out of the house on Saturday afternoons, and Bradley’s using it to smoke. It’s not the first time, either.  
  
Awsten lets the chord he’s playing ring out, glaring at Bradley. He’s not going to keep singing and playing like this. He notices Geoff and Otto exchange nervous glances, but they keep playing until the song’s done and then they quiet down.  
  
Awsten says nothing and stares lasers into Bradley’s head. Eventually, Lystaev notices and pulls on his pant leg, and he turns around. He puts out his cigarette against the metal railing and walks back inside.  
  
“What?” Bradley asks.  
  
“Ready to play the next song?” Awsten ask tersely.  
  
“Sure. What’s next?” Bradley asks, as if their setlist isn’t written on the ground.  
  
Awsten decides right then that he needs to intervene.  
  
They play through the rest of the songs, and at the part where Awsten usually lets them break for snacks, Awsten purses his lips and turns and stares at Bradley.  
  
“Are you done?” Awsten asks.  
  
“What?” Brad asks, which is a fair question.  
  
“With rock. With this band. Are we boring you? Are you ready to call it _quits_ ?” Awsten asks. “You left in the middle of Silver. Silver’s our best song.”  
  
“We practice it the most. I didn’t need to rehearse it.”  
  
“This isn’t working, Brad,” Awsten says, dropping his voice so it’s clear he’s being serious.  
  
The room goes still.  
  
For a brief moment, Awsten regrets not doing this in private.  
  
“Are you asking me if I’m done? Or _telling_ me?” Bradley asks.  
  
“Depends on if you’re gonna change your attitude,” Awsten retorts.  
  
“You realize you’re not fun to be in a band with, right? Music is supposed to be fun. Make you feel alive. And being in a band isn’t supposed to be a chore.”  
  
“If you’ve got something to say, say it to my face,” Awsten says.  
  
Brad shakes his head. “Nothing, boss. I’ll get out of your hair. Geoff, pack up, we’re—“  
  
“Geoff can stay,” Awsten interrupts, sliding his gaze over to Otto and softening his gaze just a little so that he knows Awsten isn’t angry at him. Otto nods back quickly, affirming his support about that.  
  
The room is so tense, it feels like it’s reached DEFCON 1. Geoff looks downright shocked, and Otto’s following Awsten’s lead, and Brad is the enemy at the moment. Brad closes and opens his mouth a few times. “Excuse me?”  
  
“Geoff’s not the one getting kicked out,” Awsten says. “Geoff’s good. He plays well, and more importantly, he’s dedicated to what he’s playing. He can stay.”  
  
“Because obedience is all that matters to you, isn’t it,” Bradley sneers. “Fuck it. Run your band like a business if you want. I’d rather hang with Shiny. Lesbian drama beats this any day.”  
  
Bradley throws his bass into the case, grabs it and his amp, and stands up, letting Lystaev climb up to his shoulder.  
  
“Geoff. You staying?”  
  
Geoff looks at Otto and nods after a second.  
  
Bradley hums, nods, and walks towards the front door.  
  
Awsten follows him so that he can get the door. “Thanks for the friend,” he says.  
  
“Careful with your control problems,” Brad says. “Hold them too tight and they’ll make a new band without you.”  
  
Awsten shuts the door on him and locks it. He feels no sadness at all.

Part of him is very happy, because his method of self-imposed isolation just paid off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] N64 Facts with Geoff Wigington, everybody. Timestamp at 1:50. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFPWvpLAPDw  
> [2] If you’re interested in seeing Awsten playing games, here’s a livestream of parxbois playing Smash against CPUs and each other. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymSHfTo8deA  
> [3] Travis’s uni is public knowledge bc he’s a Professional http://www.travismriddle.com/about


	3. Chapter 3

As much as Awsten would love to write Bradley off as another bad guy in his life story, Bradley wasn’t _bad_ . He didn’t do any big betrayal, and he didn’t even really do anything wrong. He just wasn’t that into it, and Awsten kicked him out for it, so he called it like he saw it and left.  
  
And Awsten can’t stop thinking about his words.  
  
“I’ve got issues. I dunno how, cause I’m eighteen and have never been traumatized, but I think I’m fucked up somehow. Dunno how, cause it seems like it worked, cause Bradley’s gone and I feel fine about _that_ . I should be happy that my strategy actually worked like I planned. A-Ok, right? Fucking _wrong_. Geoff and Otto are scared of me, and they think I’m gonna fire them, and I’m being a dictator, and everything sucks. I don’t know how to fix this, Jawn.”

“Awsten,” Jawn says sharply. “Shut the fuck up.”

Awsten‘s eyes go wide and he makes a show of being visibly offended.

“I came here to talk to her, not you,” Jawn says, pointing to Fletcher, perched on Awsten’s cabinet. Damara herself is hovering just behind Jawn’s shoulder and ordinarily he would give Fletcher up and engage in light chatter with Damara while the other pair talks out the big emotional messes, but Awsten is kinda pissed right now.

“The fuck gives you the right?”

“The decade of experience in being your best friend,” Jawn deadpans. “Fletch, you wanna take this to another room?”

“He should stay. He needs to hear it this time. He’ll settle down if you do the thing,” she says.

Jawn sighs and walks up to Awsten.

“Fuck you, no—“ Awsten snarls, and halts to slap Jawn’s hand away. “Don’t touch me! I’m not in the mood—“

Jawn reaches out and pulls Awsten into a hug, one hand on his neck and one around the small of his back. "Chill, dude, relax," he mutters under his breath as he squeezes Awsten's neck gently.

Awsten's hands ball into fists as he breathes the cotton of Jawn's shirt, eyes unfocused into the distance. He's anything but relaxed, hyperaware of Jawn pressed up against his body. It's not like they don't hug. They hug tons. But Jawn is hugging like Awsten will fall to pieces if he lets go, and that always makes Awsten realizes he might have a reason to think so.

"C'mon. Relax," Jawn repeats. He turns his head a little and gives Awsten space just enough to pull them to Awsten's bed. He goes to sit against the headboard, stopped when Awsten lifts a knee to push against the mattress in resistance. "Really?"

Awsten bites his cheek and frowns as Jawn settles himself against the bed. Jawn's hand is still firm on the back of his neck, but it's just a light tug. With a sigh, Awsten gives up the fight and rolls onto the bed, sitting with his back to Jawn's chest. He's not relaxed or chill at all, but at least they're not having a standoff in the middle of the room anymore.

“Good,” Jawn says quietly, hooking one of his legs over Awsten's and wrapping Awsten in his arms. Damara draws closer and lands on the back of Awsten’s hand, making both of their breaths hitch. She settles in, though, silent and listening as Jawn gets Awsten to calm down. Both of them are forcing him to be still; Jawn with physical restraint and Damara with the guilt of upsetting her if he shifts. It’s a ruthless tag team. “Fletch, come talk to me.”

Fletcher flies over, landing on Awsten’s stomach and looking up at Jawn.

“What’s going on?”

“This band we made,” Fletcher begins. “It’s going to end bad. We’ve been acting like a hotshot who only cares about success. We haven’t been nice to them. And if we’re not careful, Otto and Geoff are gonna start hating us and they’ll quit and we’ll _never see them again—_ “

“Woah,” Jawn interjects when her voice goes shaky with tears. He raises a hand and wipes the matching tears off Awsten’s face. “Hey. Breathe. You’re overthinking this.”

“But it’s true. We’ve been so distant, trying to play it cool, and it was working for Gage and Brad but the others are different. Our plan’s fucking _backfired_ ,” Fletcher says miserably. “We were just trying to keep ourselves from getting close.”

“Why would you need t—“

Fletcher doesn’t have to spell it out, though. Jawn’s smart enough to spot abandonment anxiety.

“Oh, Awsten,” Jawn says. “You’re still caught up on that?”

“No,” Awsten lies vehemently. 

Jawn sighs, and hugs Awsten closer to his chest. “I didn’t quit because of you.”

“I’m over it,” Awsten insists.

“‘Awsten, listen to me,” Jawn says as he presses his fingertips into Awsten's skin. “It had _nothing_ to do with you. I just didn’t want to play music anymore. I just…”

“Got bored,” Awsten fills in, because it’s true. Jawn has phases of interests; always has. A phase of learning magic tricks. A phase of reading mystery novels. A phase of doing music. [1]

“Not with _you_ , though,” Jawn says.

The thing about that, however, is Awsten doesn’t believe a word of it.

“Fletcher, help me out here,” Jawn pleads. “I need to know what’s going through his head.”

Fletcher shifts, clearly trying to decide how much to reveal, and what’s worth sharing so they can get the advice and guidance they’re so desperate for. Even _she_ doesn’t like spilling their guts all the time. “It’s about that, sort of. Clearly you _are_ still sticking around. But it’s not because of the music, it’s because of the friendship. Except, we don’t have anything with Otto and Geoff except music. So how do we know things won’t fall apart this time?”

“They need us,” Awsten butts in.

“I want them to _want_ us,” Fletcher says desperately.

“Don’t fight her,” Jawn pleads. “You don’t need to. It’s only me here. There’s nobody to fool; I know she’s you.”

Awsten turns his head away.

“You need to make friends with them, I think,” Jawn says after a long pause. “Joke around with them. You’ve been keeping it business-focused, but that needs to stop. You’re playing this— this character you’ve made: someone who’s grown up and serious and professional. Let them see the kid. Let them know you.”

“What if they hate me?” Awsten asks, quiet and scared as he looks up at Jawn’s face, upside down and framed in long black hair.

“Then I don’t want them anywhere near you,” Jawn says, fiercely protective. “I’ll kick their asses.”

“What if they don’t want to do this?” Fletcher asks, both more realistic and to-the-point.

“Then they weren’t good bandmate material. I know I gave you trust issues, but you need to find a middle ground here. Bands are about more than music. Just try to be yourself. Maybe start with letting them be them,” Jawn says.

“You’re my favorite,” Awsten says.

“I love you too.”

* * *

  
  
The next practice is tense, like everyone’s waiting for a pin to drop. Probably because someone got kicked out forever last week, if Awsten were to guess. Probably because he has a track record, now, of kicking people out for not trying hard enough. It makes it unbelievably awkward, and it makes Awsten extremely aware that anything he says may be taken as a demand.  
  
Geoff’s tuning his guitar when Otto blurts out, “I always wanted to play bass.” [2]  
  
Awsten blinks, and says, “what?”  
  
“I love bass guitar. It’s awesome. I wanna be the new bassist, now that the position’s empty,” Otto says.  
  
“Okay,” Awsten says slowly. “You realize we can’t play live without drums?”  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
“And you know we’re fine without bass for live shows, right?”  
  
“Yeah. Once you get a permanent replacement for me on drums, I’ll start playing bass officially. I’ll do drums until then. Promise.”  
  
Awsten bursts into laughter. He’s laughing so hard he can’t see properly for a few seconds, but when he wipes his eyes, Otto and Geoff still look nervous, _but_ he remembers Jawn’s advice, so he gets up, still giggling, and rushes out of the room.  
  
He stumbles back in with his own bass guitar in hand and shoves it into Otto’s arms.  
  
Both of them finally relax.  
  
Instead of practicing, they spend the entire afternoon teaching Otto the chords he’s never had to learn. Geoff sets down his guitar within the first five minutes and Awsten never gets around to picking his own guitar up in the first place. They go through every song and demo they have, and then Otto ropes them into watching _Scott Pilgrim vs. the World_ once he hears that Awsten has it on the newly-released DVD (“it’s, like, the only bassist-focused narrative,” Otto declares during the trailers, “you have to see it, Geoff; it’s a masterpiece,”), and somehow it’s ten PM and Gracie is complaining to Mom that it’s not fair how Awsten can have his friends sleep over unplanned but she can’t have more than one of hers stay the night.

They crash on the couch. Awsten's so fucking tired by the end of it that he doesn't even bother to get up and go to his own bed fifteen feet away. In the morning, his Mom has already put blankets over all three of them, and they make eggs and pancakes (and argue whether syrup-only-no-butter or butter-only-no-syrup is a worse way to eat them) and don't even mention music until they have to pack up the instruments so everyone can go home.  
  
Otto is only their bassist for that one day. It’s a very good day, though.

* * *

One day, Awsten shows up to Otto’s job and waits for him in the parking lot.

Otto, for his part, is pretty nice about it. “Awsten? What are you doing here?”

“Hey, I wanted to talk with you,” Awsten says, sliding off the hood. “And Geoff, but we’ll call him. Your phone sucks, so I didn’t wanna bother with that part. It would ruin the dramatic tension.” [3]

“Okay,” Otto says. “Uh. Right now?”

“Well, we can get in the car first,” Awsten concedes.

“Lemme— uh, my carpool. I’ll say bye and then we can talk,” Otto says.

Luckily, it only takes a minute or so for Otto to explain that a friend’s come to pick him up and say goodbye. Once he comes back, Awsten unlocks his car. The two of them slide in and start up the engine, because it’s October and windy and being inside is nice when Awsten’s been waiting outside for the past half hour.

Awsten pulls out his phone and clicks on Geoff’s contact before he can convince himself otherwise.

“Is this good news or bad news?” Otto asks before Geoff answers.

“Good,” Awsten assures, and then he hears a click and grins. “Geoff! Hi.”

“Hey Awsten,” Geoff says. “What’s up? You caught me right at the end of my break.”

Awsten throws it on speakerphone for convenience. “I got a question for you and Otto— oh. Otto’s here too. Otto, say hi.”

“Hi, Geoff,” Otto chimes in.

“Hi,” Geoff responds.

“What are you guys doing next Friday?” Awsten asks.

When they both mumble responses that amount to ‘nothing, why’ Awsten lets himself grin.

“How would you like to headline a show?”

* * *

  
  


So, technically Waterparks is the headliner of its first real show (which is _technically_ sold-out because they deleted all the tickets which didn't sell), playing directly after two indie rappers, a metal band, and a Domino’s pepperoni pizza which is dramatically placed onstage while house music plays through the venue for twenty minutes. [4]

They make the mistake of trying too hard to be cool, admittedly. They ask for strobe lights and backlighting and don’t rehearse it with the final lighting, so they end up playing in the dark from muscle memory, completely still in front of their mics for fear of falling offstage by mistake. It’s kind of horrible. But the twenty people in the audience like it well enough, and they dance even though they don’t know the words. Or, at least Awsten _thinks_ they dance. He couldn’t see his own guitar, let alone the audience. There’s a good amount of applause at the very least.

Afterwards, they’re immediately laughing about it as they stumble their way into a back lounge. Otto’s on a couch and Geoff’s on a chair and Awsten is still standing, bouncing on his feet because the post-show high has got to him.

“I fucked up so hard,” Geoff says through his blush. “On Float? I felt like I forgot where my frets were.”

“I just stood there like an idiot,” Vir giggles. “Whole time. Stock still.”

“Hey, me too!” Awsten exclaims, and he would high-five her, but she’s a dog, so that’s a bust.

Geoff shakes his head. “I fucked up so much.”

“You sure the fuck did, but more importantly, Otto, what happened during Silver?” Awsten asks.

“My drumstick slipped,” Otto says, mortified but grinning. “I had to switch hands and feel around for it. Terra had to get it for me.”

“Oh my god, that’s not true. It can’t be,” Awsten giggles. He turns to Terra, who’s lying perched on the arm of the couch closest to Geoff and Vir, but she just nods seriously. “Otto, _no_! Oh my god, we’re terrible.”

“That was the least professional show I’ve ever done,” Otto declares.

“It was my first show,” Geoff mumbled. [5]

“Sorry, _what_?” Awsten asks. His eyebrows are up so high, they’re competing with his bangs for real estate. “How did we not know this beforehand?”

“I wanted you guys to think I was cool like you,” Geoff says. “Shut up!”

“Oh Geoff,” Awsten placates. “I never thought you were cool.”

“First show?” Otto echoes. “Like, ever?”

“Do you count school plays from middle school?” Geoff asks.

Awsten shakes his head and tuts. “Twenty-two and you’re popping your cherry with teenagers.”

“Oh my god,” Geoff exclaims. He’s laughing, though. They all are. Giant grins on their faces and giggles and full on belly-laughs. Otto’s laughing so hard he rolls and presses his face into the grimy couch of the backstage lounge.

“We’re officially losers,” Terra says. “It’s public now. We’ve hit rock bottom.”

“Nowhere to go but up!” Fletcher exclaims. She shoots off Awsten’s shoulder and lands herself on top of Vir’s head, chirping happily. Awsten knows; he knows that she’s just caught up in the moment and can’t help herself from joining in. That doesn’t mean he wants her to speak. Her seemingly-uncharacteristic vocalism doesn’t go unnoticed, either. Otto’s eyes widen, and Geoff’s breath catches, and both of them stop laughing to watch her. “And we‘re going up. I know we are.”

“You believe that? Really?” Terra asks quietly.

“Yeah. I believe in us. We’re talented. We’re good, and I already love doing what we do,” Awsten’s soul says.

Awsten presses a hand against his mouth and suppresses the urge to smack her, and instead looks pensively at Otto and Geoff.

Geoff starts beaming. “You love us!”

“She didn’t say that,” Awsten squeaks.

“You didn’t say no!” Otto shouts, then he’s grinning and pointing and he says, “Geoff, look, he’s blushing!”

“Am not,” Awsten yelps.

“Are so,” Geoff says. “I should take a picture!”

“If anyone does, it has to be you,” Otto says. “My phone has the photography capacity of a low-end toaster.”

They bicker and joke around until the venue eventually kicks them out, and even then they hang out and talk for hours, still hyper and high on success and energy and humor and it feels oddly like friendship.

* * *

In the middle of the night, sometimes, Awsten will overthink his actions and behavior like anyone with general anxiety does.

He lies in bed with Fletcher on his pillow, so close that she’s rubbing against his cheek, and stares at the roof, and thinks. He realizes, there, that he’s been forgetting to be mean.

“You fucked up,” he says.

“I got excited. I’m sorry,” she says.

“You’re not supposed to talk to them. Any of them.”

“I hate you,” Fletcher says quietly.

“Yeah,” he says.

“I don’t want to do this.”

“At least you don’t have to be cruel.”

“At least you get to talk.”

“It’s not fun, Fletch.”

“We have to.”

He’s not trying to be an asshole just for the fun of it. His intent is to change who he is around his band and carry himself with a professional demeanor. He’d decided months, maybe years ago, that if so many pop stars could be absolutely horrid to their coworkers and still be successful, then there was no point getting too attached to his bandmates. All he needed was for them to pull their weight, and he would write them songs to play, and that would be Awsten’s dream.

Which was all going to plan until Otto and Geoff walked in with their undeniable talent and nervous smiles and tentative kindness and hilarious personalities, and sure enough Awsten has been getting worse at keeping himself in check. He laughs with them when they make jokes (even though they make the worst puns), hugs them when he gets excited (even though Geoff hugs too tight and with hands that are so warm they could be marketed as miniature furnaces), and explains how grateful he is that Jawn is in his life (even telling those stories takes away from band practice time). All things that his professional persona would never ever do.

And the problem is, he’s already failed, because he’s way too attached to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Jawn talks in this interview about finding it hard to stick with one thing and specialize. Timestamp at 33:50. https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/matthias-hombauer/how-to-become-a-rockstar-photographer-podcast/e/63342950  
> [2] See: Gloom Boys music video. I think that sums it up.  
> [3] Are we ever gonna talk about how bad Otto’s phones are? He owned a SPRINT FLIP PHONE in 2012, JFC.  
> [4] Their first show was an absolute m e s s. https://youtu.be/b50cw6gFPZc  
> [5] Same video as above.


	4. Chapter 4

The more Awsten lets himself hang out with Geoff and Otto, the more he’s convinced that they care far more than they should.

“Are we ever gonna talk about your lyrics?” Otto wonders aloud one Saturday night.

Saturdays are becoming less and less about band practice every time they meet. They run through their songs once out of obligation and sometimes they’ll try a new one if Awsten has a demo ready to show them, but past that they’re usually just chilling. Awsten’s parents are probably grateful for the reduction of noisy music, honestly. Awsten’s grateful for the way it’s starting to feel like Otto and Geoff actually care about him. They send jokes over texts, and bring him snacks for practice, and let him complain about college. Geoff mentions a half-useless Bachelor's degree. Otto smiles and brags that he got his high school diploma and gave up education. They’re comfortable now; enough so that Geoff had asked Awsten for a ride today while his shitty Honda gets fixed up in the car shop. And though Geoff lives an hour and-a-fucking half away, Awsten agreed. Some secret part of Awsten is very happy that they’ve gotten to the stage of trust where they can easily ask small favors of each other. Except right now, when it seems like this conversation could go very wrong. [1]

“I mean, I know we’re emo, and that’s kinda the genre, but…” Otto exhales heavily. “Some of those lyrics freak me out.”

“Aww,” Awsten mutters mockingly. “You care.”

“Well, yeah,” Geoff says. “Otto has a point, actually. Neither of us were around for the production of Airplane Conversations, but we know it like the backs of our hands now. And it’s worrying, Awsten. Some of the words sound… suicide-y.”

“Take it up with Gage; he wrote some of the words,” Awsten shrugs. He knows very well which lyrics sound worryingly depressed, and he knows that Gage didn’t write them. But he also knows that neither of them know that for certain, and he doubts that they would have the guts to press the issue.

“Awsten—“ Geoff starts, but he halts when Awsten turns and levels him a sharp glare. “I just… Eviredium and I are here for you. Anything you need. We’ll always be here to talk.”

It sounds too much like Jawn, and it freaks Awsten out, because he’s been downright awful to them, and they still actually care about him. And that… that can’t be right.

The only solution he can think of is to double down.

“Eviredium?” Awsten says, making sure it sounds emotionless, untouchable, detached. He glances down at Geoff’s soul. “Huh. I never bothered to learn her name.”

She looks fucking _crushed_.

“I’ll help you pack your stuff up and I’ll drop you off, ‘kay?” Awsten says flippantly because he wants Geoff hurt, not _stranded_. He turns and walks away and he’s headed off to pack up Geoff’s stuff before he has to stick around and see his face. He pretends not to notice their hushed whispers or the silence afterwards or the redness of their eyes when Awsten’s driving them home. [2]

When finally he’s alone in his car after dropping Otto off, he lets his head drop to the wheel and he groans.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispers into the night.

No one answers him. He doesn't know it yet, but Fletcher will give him the silent treatment for days.

His soul hates him, and he doesn’t blame her for it.

* * *

November deadlines hit him like a freight train.

He usually doesn't let himself think about how much he’s doing, but he’s taking sixteen credit hours of classes and it’s his third semester of college and he’s watching and teaching kids every Wednesday-Thursday-Friday night and Sunday afternoons too. That, atop the various essay projects he has for school, means he’s staying up every night and running himself ragged. All the while, Fletcher lays on his bed sprawled out like roadkill, refusing to read through their textbooks and articles with him like she usually does. She doesn't fly. She doesn't get up so Awsten can use the bathroom, so he has to stretch and bear the pain of distance. She doesn't so much as stand up. He only just convinces her that they need to keep going to work, and even then she only hops into the pocket of his hoodie so he can carry her around.

And that's the crux of it, really. Awsten's trying his best to do his work, but his soul is laying in bed wallowing in a pit of _lonely-tired-aching-guilt-depression-apprehension_. She doesn't say as much, but he can feel it because they're his emotions as much as they are hers, he's just doing a better job of ignoring them. Half of him is actively ignoring practical work. It's... to say it's hard to focus is an understatement.

With the pile of work, he has a halfway-legitimate excuse to cancel band practice that doesn't involve disclosing Fletcher's catatonic state. Otto doesn’t seem happy about it over the call, but he comes around. Geoff is quiet when Awsten calls him, but he accepts the news and hangs up after saying bye. That leaves him with the whole day to work on his projects that are due on Sunday morning. Over the course of Saturday, Awsten manages to finish most of them, even if he is close to giving up and taking the zero he’ll get for not turning anything in.

He’s not one to leave shit unfinished, though, so he sits down the next morning and writes and researches and turns it all in the second he has a semi-decent final draft. 

And then he calls Jawn over, because his options are either nap until his next guitar lesson or invite Jawn to hang, and if he goes to sleep now, he’s not waking up for another twelve hours.

Jawn arrives and sighs when Awsten answers the door. He’s cut his hair short again, so there’s barely any bangs to hide the concerned furrow of his brows. Awsten watches Jawn give him a once-over, eyes catching on Fletcher's tailfeathers poking out of his jacket pocket. “Go lie down on the couch,” he says without greeting him, “I’ll start some coffee.”

“It’s one PM,” Awsten complains.

“Yeah, you need it,” Jawn says.

Ten minutes later, they’re sitting down on the couch together, shoulder to shoulder with empty mugs on the coffee table.

"Fletch?" Damara whispers to break the silence.

"I don't wanna talk," Fletcher says with a wrecked voice.

Awsten closes his eyes and swallows hard. He can't even remember what her last words before these ones were. She hasn't spoken in well over a week by now, and her throat hurts. His throat hurts by association.

"Awsten?" Maybe the worst part is how surprised Jawn sounds.

"She's tired," he offers. He sinks into the couch cushion and leans over so he can rest his head on Jawn’s shoulder. " _I'm_ tired."

“God, Aws, I can tell it's not just that. What’s eating at you?” Jawn asks. “You look fucking dead. She _sounds_ dead. This is more than school stress.”

"I called you over to hang, not for you to pry into my psyche," Awsten says.

"You have to talk to me," Jawn says. He glances over at Fletcher and his face visibly falls. "If she won't - or can't? - then you have to. Awsten, _tell me_."

“I fucked up the band,” Awsten admits. “I said something uncalled for. I think I made them cry. Like, _actually_ cry. They went into the kitchen and when they left, it was all red eyes and sniffles.”

Jawn sighs.

“And he cancelled practice yesterday, so he hasn’t really talked to either of them since then,” Fletcher says.

“Awsten, really?”

“I know,” Awsten says, cringing. “I just want to fix it.”

“You're a good person. I don't get why you're trying so hard not to be,” Jawn says. “Can’t you see that what you’re doing is useless? You’ve been trying to distance yourself so you don’t care about them, but Awsten, you already do. All you’re doing is hurting everyone. You’re hurting yourself, and them, and I can’t tell who I’m more sorry for.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“Then stop,” Jawn says firmly. He presses his lips to Awsten’s temple. “I’m going to tell you this once. Go to them, and explain that this is what you’ve been doing. Tell them it was intentional.”

Awsten feels panic bubbling up instantly, a volatile refusal of the concept. “No way. No, Jawn—!”

“They deserve to know,” Jawn says. “And you need to say it. For catharsis. No more dancing around it. No more _hoping_ they’ll stick it out.”

"I can't," Awsten tells Jawn. He pulls his knees up to his chest and tucks his head in the gap between. He'll hyperventilate if he has to consider what that means. He already half-is, thinking about how people respond when your entire relationship has been fake. Everything's built on a lie that Awsten so desperately wishes was true, but now he's grasping at straws. He can't even think straight enough to explain that to Jawn. "I can't. They'll know I've been lying. They'll leave."

"That's their choice," Jawn protests. "You need to let them know. If you need to cut ties after—"

Awsten draws himself tighter to conceal his flinch, but the way Jawn pauses shows it didn't work as well as he'd hoped.

"Aws. I'm not telling you anything you don't know. You tried this for long enough, but it's time to stop now. You're going to tell them everything."

“Can’t you just come and say it?”

“It has to be you.”

“… You still love me, though, right?” Awsten whispers pitifully. A pause, and then he tilts his head back to the couch cushion to look up at Jawn. He _does_ want to own up to his mistakes. He needs that validation, though, that proof that someone can see him for exactly who he is and still love it. “Even though I’m terrible?”

Jawn reaches up and scoops Damara from the air into the palm of his hand, and in one smooth motion, he grabs Awsten’s wrist and passes his soul into _his_ hand. Awsten inhales sharply and watches like a hawk the two of them shudder, and then relax again. She feels _warmwarmwarm_ where her feathers rest on his skin, almost like a warm fire when it's freezing everywhere else. Jawn's hands are still pressed around Awsten's as they breathe together.

Touching someone’s soul can go very, very wrong. Unless both parties are completely on board, it can physically hurt in ways comparable to torture. Even when everyone has good intentions, it can still go badly. The fact that Jawn is relaxed and humming contentedly is as definitive proof as Awsten can ask for that Jawn truly trusts him.

“Always,” Jawn says. “You can’t scare me off, Knight."

* * *

He calls Geoff the next day, and the second he picks up, Awsten’s already talking.

“If I buy you Chipotle, will you hear me out?” he asks.

“What?” Geoff asks. There’s a pause, and then, “Awsten?”

“Yeah, hi. Otto will be there too. I hope. If he says yes, I mean. I’ll pick both of you up and we’ll get Chipotle and we’ll talk.”

“Uh… today?” Geoff asks.

“If that’s alright,” he says.

“Yeah just— I get off work at five.”

“No, I know. See you then?” Awsten asks.

“See you then,” Geoff says.

Awsten hangs up and repeats the process with Otto.

The phone stops ringing, but Otto's voicemail doesn't play.

"Otto?"

"Awsten," Otto says. "Hey. What's up?"

"I wanna meet up."

"Well yeah, I hoped we would eventually," Otto says. He's probably aiming for humorous, but he's missing the mark and drifting into condescending. "I'd hoped you wouldn't cancel every band practice."

"No," Awsten says quickly. "I mean I want to meet up soon. Today. I think— it's time we talk some stuff out, don't you think?"

Otto, it seems, is more skeptical than Geoff was. “Is this going to be a talk about boundaries? Cause I’ll be honest, Awsten, what you said was…”

Awsten swallows hard.

“He was just trying to help,” Otto finally says, finding his resolve. “And I think you really hurt his feelings. I know that’s maybe not the manliest thing ever, but respect is important, man, and you can’t treat Geoff like that.”

“I know,” Awsten says.

“You know?” Otto asks, confused. “Uh. What?”

“That’s what— look, I just wanna talk about it. You’re right, though. I was way out of line, and I want to apologize. To both of you.”

“Both?” Otto asks.

"We'll get Chipotle. C'mon. Who doesn't like being told they were right and eating their favorite food?" Awsten asks.

Otto chuckles a little, and it makes Awsten relax a little because it's the first time in this whole phone call that Otto hasn't sounded completely strained. “Well… I mean, yeah, sure. I’ll listen, for whatever that’s worth.”

“Great. Thank you,” Awsten says. “I’ll pick you up at 5:30?”

“Yeah. Later, dude.”

His phone beeps when Otto hangs up. He looks over at Fletcher. "I'm finally doing it."

Fletcher stares at a wall.

"We wanted this," he whispers. He's not even sure whether he's talking about making amends or forcing others out in the first place, but either way it's true. She was just as invested as he was. "Why do you still hate me?"

She doesn't respond.

"We should get moving." With a sigh, he stands up and reaches out to her, ready to lift her up and carry her along. Instead, she stands up too, stretches her wings, and flies up to his shoulder. He has to stop slouching so she doesn't slide off, but he doesn't mind— not at all, not when she’s not ignoring him. She's responding. She's up, and she flew, if only a few inches. He closes his eyes and breathes with her. "Okay."

* * *

Sitting in Chipotle with three burritos, two bandmates, a wallet that’s twenty bucks lighter, and no plan, Awsten wonders if he should have figured out what he was going to say ahead of time.

To be fair, he’d thought about it. Considered writing out a speech, carefully calculating how to justify himself and admit to his mistakes. But then he thought that would go terribly, because he started grade school with an inability to read and speak simultaneously and it never got better. And anyway, he’d reasoned, nobody wants to hear him stutter through a pre-planned discussion. That’s lame.

He’s realizing now that improv isn’t his strong suit, and that _this could very well miss the mark of Spontaneous Heartfelt Moment and fall straight into Panicked Jumble territory._ But fuck it, he chose this, he’s gonna suck it up and do it.

Because Geoff and Otto look nervous, and they deserve a fucking explanation.

“If I were a better person, I’d apologize without making excuses,” Awsten says. “But I’m not. So, I hope you’re cool with some exposition.”

Geoff bites into his burrito, staring.

“Couple years ago, I was— okay, you know my best friend, Jawn? I talk about him, like, a lot. He— well, I was in a band with him. And I thought, at the time, that it was perfect. Not in the sense of— not like it was a perfect band. We kinda sucked. But I thought _‘we’re just like Spencer Smith and Ryan Ross, two childhood best friends in a band_ ’, y’know? He’d sing the songs I wrote, and it was fucking fun. I was _really_ happy. And then—“ [1]

He spares a look up. Both of them are listening, chewing through their burritos but staring at him. Some recognition is sparking in Otto’s eyes, probably from the month or so he spent in The Blue Poptarts. Vir and Terra stare from the ground too. Fletcher watches him too, from a distance. She’s perched on a sign a few feet away, waiting to see how this pans out just like him. Five sets of eyes are focused on him, listening to him spill his guts. He feels a little sick, but he reminds himself that this isn’t optional.

“Uh. He decided music wasn’t what he wanted to do. And it kind of fucked me up bad. I know, logically, that he didn’t do it- like, I know he was just being true to himself, or whatever. It wasn’t because he hated me or anything. But I’m bad at listening to logic, and what happened instead was I learned the wrong lesson from the whole experience,” Awsten says. He wrings out his hands, stares at them, and laughs bitterly. “I learned that caring about your bandmates only leads to depressive episodes when they inevitably leave you.”

Awsten doesn’t even let himself look up.

“So I went into Waterparks with this idea that I’d be writing new music, better music, and I’d keep all the passion I needed for it internally. Like- I thought that if I just kept the whole process internal, and just outsourced the other instruments, I could make a band that works without, like, risking my emotional state. And if I hid Fletcher and kept her away from other daemons, nobody would get to know me. So I went out and got bandmates, but they were just old friends who owed me favors. I guess when you’re keeping everything business casual for months on end, people get bored, and Owen left, so I had to find someone else.”

“I think I’m about to enter the story,” Otto mutters to Geoff. “Just a hunch.”

Awsten laughs a little. “Enter Otto. Someone who doesn’t know I’m an emotional wreck. Someone who doesn’t know me at all. So I decided, okay, it’s for real now. He’s good, and there’s no, like, connection between us. I can just have him play music for me, and that’s all. Leave everything else out of it.”

“And I know this isn’t— this isn’t a good excuse, but I thought it was working, because we ditched Gage and I wasn’t broken up about it. In my head, somehow that was, like, proof that it was working. That if I just acted professional, and cool, and untouchable, then it wouldn’t hurt when the lineup changed.

“So then Geoff came with Brad, and I thought I could just do the same thing and it would work out. And, I guess that’s most of it,” Awsten sighs. “I am sorry. I know that my actions have consequences, but I’ve been… it’s been brought to my attention that you guys deserve better. So I’m gonna try to stop acting like a dick.”

“…Huh,” Otto says after a pause. “I always just thought you were bipolar or something.”

“What?” Awsten asks abruptly.

“Not in a _bad way_ ,” Otto says quickly. “I was cool with it, would’ve been cool with whatever. Just cause— yeah, you’d act like you were such a cool dude, and then five seconds later you’re showing us a puppy instagram account, and I thought there was no way that was normal. Not that there’s anything wrong with— yeah.” Though he looks a little uncomfortable to admit it, Otto also looks like he’s trying to shrug it off. “It just explained it for me. A reserved guy who has random flashes of being really nice and energetic. I guess you being a bad actor makes more sense.”

“Bad actor?” Awsten repeats, making sure to inflect his voice to show how ridiculous that is.

“Uh, yeah dude. You’ve been pretty bad about keeping the act up recently. When we were taking out my drum kit to Geoff’s car last month, you stopped to talk with your neighbor about her cats. Cool dudes don’t do that. I was like, ‘ _huh, kinda weird for him to be acting like a sweetheart, that's Geoff's job_ ',” Otto says.

Awsten frowns at him, but he can’t argue because to be fair, he was trying to hide that part of himself. Apparently he wasn’t even doing it well.

Otto shakes his head. “I guess it’s kinda shocking to hear I was wrong about all that. And it’s good— I mean, I’d rather you be secretly a great dude than have you really be the way you were acting. I’m glad you’re sorry about it too, but we really do need to talk about it before we can move on, you know? Especially about the way you’ve been treating Geoff.”

So, he nods tentatively and turns his head. “Geoff?”

Geoff has his arms folded on the table, and he’s been watching silently for some time. Slowly, he flicks his eyes to Otto and lands back on Awsten. “Well. I _do_ believe you. There were days where you were just so fun to hang with, and I could see when you remembered you weren’t supposed to have fun with us. I didn’t understand why, and I still kinda don’t, but I think the gist of it was that you’re going to stop?”

“Yeah, I am,” Awsten says, nodding. “I promise. Cross my heart.”

“Good. I’m really glad to hear that. But— you know, Otto’s right. We have to talk about what happened. You did the same thing the other week. It always makes me sad when you do, but the other day—“

Awsten sucks in a breath as quietly as he can, because he really doesn’t want to talk about this, but they have to.

“Did you mean it?” Geoff asks quietly. “When you said you didn’t know her name. Was that true? Or were you just saying it to be mean?

“I…” Awsten feels his face shifting without his permission, but he bites his lip and decides that tonight is about truth, and Geoff deserves to know. “It’s true, but only in that I— I mean. I was trying not to get attached, so I…”

His hands are shaking now, but he can’t bring himself to look Geoff in the eye. What he’s saying is horrible.

“I didn’t know her full name,” Awsten forces out, like he’s physically dragging the confession from his lips. “But you always called her Vir, and I just picked up on it and copied.”

There’s a pause, where Awsten can almost feel the judgement being cast.

He forces himself to stay still. He’s going to sit there and listen to them if they tell him they’re done putting up with his shit. He’s going to be responsible as fuck, and he’s _not_ going to run away from this.

“What about Fletcher?” Geoff asks.

 _Wait, what?_ "What?” Awsten asks.

“Is she… you said you wanted to keep her away from us. That was part of the distancing thing, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “She’s a fucking idiot who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

Geoff lifts a hand to cover his mouth at the same time that Otto sucks in a breath.

“Awsten, no,” Otto says. “You’ve gotta stop this.”

“You can’t turn this on her,” Geoff says.

“She’s _me_ ,” Awsten responds, shaking his head. “I’m just taking responsibility for all this. We were dumbasses, and we were both being cruel. You didn’t hear it from her, because I was keeping her tucked away, but she didn’t want to risk it either. Both of us were being bitchy and petulant and mean. You can hold me accountable, but not her.”

“Neither of you are in trouble, though,” Otto exclaims. “We don’t want to throw blame.”

Geoff nods vigorously. “Just because you made some bad choices doesn’t mean— we don’t want you to _pay_ for your mistakes. We just want you to be who you are, and we want to know you. You and Fletcher both.”

Awsten blinks, looking between the two of them.

“I know it’s probably a habit for you by now, but you _have_ to stop throwing aggression around,” Otto says. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I’m not gonna stand you being mean to Geoff and Vir. And— actually, you know what? I’m not gonna stand you being mean to Fletcher either.”

“Fletcher hates me too,” Awsten protests helplessly.

“You can work on that. I’m not asking you to fix it right now,” Otto says. “Just don’t yell at her. Please. You do that, and be nice to Geoff, and the two of us are square.”

“Okay,” Awsten says, eyes wide. He hadn’t expected to necessarily be forgiven at all, let alone be given a step-by-step guide for getting back to normal, but he’ll fucking take it. “I’ll… Fletch?”

Fletcher swoops down and lands on the table.

Awsten glances up at Otto, and then swallows and looks at Fletcher. “Can you say it for me? Please. So they know I’m being honest.”

“You’re a coward,” she says sharply. “Starting today, I’m gonna talk to whoever the fuck I want.”

Awsten nods.

She turns around. “We tried really hard not to let you close, you know. But y’all are fucking persistent, and we love you so much, and if you give us another shot I promise we’ll never let you forget it. And he means it.”

“That true?” Geoff asks with a raspy voice.

“My soul says so,” Awsten says. “I’m really sorry. We’re sorry.”

Geoff stands up so fast he nearly trips over Eviredium. Awsten’s stifling a laugh when Geoff grabs his arm and yanks him out of his chair and into a tight hug.

Awsten takes maybe half a second before he’s hugging back, only minding a bit at all that Geoff’s arms are crushing his shoulders. Geoff, apparently, does not hug gently ever. He buries his face in Geoff’s neck. Which, of course, means he startles when Otto bumps into them, wrapping one arm around each person.

With a sort of intuitive sense, he knows that Fletcher is huddled somewhere between Vir and Terra. When he closes his eyes, he can feel the difference between the fur texture; silky and smooth on Vir and finer fluffy hair on Terra, both incredibly warm.

“We’re friends. Not just bandmates,” Otto says into Awsten’s hair.

Geoff lets go of Awsten’s shoulders with one hand, but only to move it a couple inches to grasp Otto’s arm. “We get it.”

In the middle of a Chipotle at 6 PM on a Thursday, three dudes hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Can’t find an interview for this atm but Geoff did college, but Awsten got the furthest  
> [2]Also can’t find the interview but there’s two or three where they complain about a long drive time; not bc huston has traffic but just bc they lived in different suburbs  
> [3] Here is the least chaotic video of TBP performing I could find. Jawn's furthest from the camera and in neon short shorts and black tights. Feel free to look up more guitarist!Jawn/singer!Jawn content, bc it’s out there. https://youtu.be/W_xrrJ_k4uc


	5. Chapter 5

And because time keeps on ticking, Awsten finds himself waiting for Geoff and Otto to show up for practice the next week.

He sits on the couch, waiting for them to show up, rubbing his sweating hands on his jeans, and generally being impatient.

“First time I’ll be talking freely around them,” Fletcher announces.

“Yeah, as you should,” Awsten mumbles. “Well, as much as you want to. Even around family, you don’t usually talk much. Not unless you’re venting.”

“You usually talk enough for both of us,” she shrugs.

He fixes her with a curious glance. “Would you talk as much as I do? If I didn’t speak for both of us, I mean?”

“Maybe. But I wouldn’t change the way we are. As long as you handle the small talk chatter, I’ll handle the important stuff.”

Awsten would fight her on that, but there’s a knock on the door. He moves to stand and holds out a hand; Fletcher flaps up to land on the back of it seamlessly and without even thinking. Their bickering forgotten, they head over, swallow nervously, and open the door. Geoff’s standing there with a smile, holding Otto’s snare drum while his own guitar case is slung over his shoulder. As per usual, Vir has cables and power cords wrapped around her neck so they don’t have to make the extra trips.

“Hi,” Geoff says.

“Hi, Eviredium,” Fletcher says from the back of Awsten’s hand.

Vir blinks with surprise, but then she grins. “Hey, Fletcher. Awsten.”

“Hey,” Awsten says back. He opens the door and then glances at the driveway. “Alright, you start setting up and I’ll help carry stuff in.”

It’s not uncommon for him to help Otto set up his drum kit, but it is uncommon for him to announce it. Either way, Geoff graciously ignores it and heads inside. Between the three of them, they pull all the equipment into the living room fairly fast, and they’re ready to go.

“Where’s the setlist?” Otto asks as he sets down. “Did your printer break?”

“No, our printer’s fine,” Fletcher says. Awsten crouches down and fiddles with his pedals while she speaks. “We thought we’d let you guys pick what we play today.”

There’s a pause. It’s so long that he glances back to make sure he didn’t miss something, but they’re just staring at him.

“What?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious.

“You’re acting weird,” Otto says.

Awsten very nearly flinches but restrains himself enough to keep his face mostly blank. Of course he’s acting weird; being intentionally thoughtful hadn’t been on the table until now. It’s out of character from their perspective.

Geoff’s eyes widen. “Otto— shut up. What he _means_ is ‘thanks’. That’s really thoughtful of you.”

“Oh,” Otto says, finally getting with the program, and apparently _immediately_ forgets the program and Geoff’s warning. “No, yeah it totally is. I only meant— well. It seems like you’re trying too hard.”

“Letting you decide what you want to play is _trying too hard_?” Awsten asks, furrowing his brows.

“No, that’s not… it’s nice. It’s thoughtful. But you don’t have to, is my point,” Otto says. “You’re allowed to decide stuff for the band. It’s your band.”

“ _My_ band?”

“Don’t even start with that, of _course_ it’s your band. You call the shots and we want it to stay that way. I don’t know shit about decision-making or organizing a practice. That’s your job, dude. Neither of us wants you to stop.”

Awsten looks to Geoff because Geoff had been telling Otto to shut up a second ago, but now he’s just nodding.

“We’re not good at a lot of things,” Fletcher says nervously.

“You’re good at running a band. We’ll tell you when you stop being cool about it. If it stops being okay. Until then, you’re in charge,” Geoff says. “So what are we playing?”

It’s not what he was expecting, but he’s not going to fight both of them while he’s trying to make amends. So he tries to remember as quickly as he can which songs they like best. “Okay. Float?”  
  
Otto smiles.

Geoff plays the opening riff.

Awsten thinks it's another step in the right direction.

* * *

He later calls Jawn to spread the good news that his band is now officially back to normal.

“Do you feel like you’ve overcome a mental block?”

“What?” Awsten asks.

“I mean, like, do you feel accomplished? Personal goals are important. You let a guitarist in. Now that I think about it, you haven’t done that since me.”

“Nobody’ll be like you,” Awsten says. “It wouldn’t feel the same.”

“I hope not. We _sucked_ ,” Jawn laughs quietly. “You do know that ‘different’ isn’t ‘worse’, right? It’s like— They’re not competition, is all. They can be your bandmates and back-up singers and I won’t get jealous. Hell, I didn’t even get jealous when Travis matched my rank of BFF. What’s a couple more?”

“Don’t you have to vet them before you decide whether or not to let them take your job? Like, background checks?”

“For the record, I’m not going to _stop_ being your best friend any time soon, so I’m still employed for that job title. But honestly, dude, you’ve been telling me everything they’ve said and done for the past few months. I listened. They’re fine.”

“Right,” Awsten says, rolling his eyes.

When he looks at Fletcher, though, she’s letting out a sigh of relief at Jawn’s words. He’s not willing to voice it, but Jawn’s seal of approval on new friends is a welcome assurance that he’s made the right choice to trust them.

* * *

It’s another week, one where he’s finished his finals and passed them all and is now basking in the glory of winter break. The others feel it too, in the way that practice has returned to a loose excuse to meet up. The couch isn’t big enough for everyone, so Otto lays down on the floor using Terra as a pillow while Awsten and Geoff take the couch, their legs tangled up in the middle.

“What do friends even do? Complain about work? Tell each other secrets?” Awsten asks.

“Secrets? Like what?” Geoff asks with a growing grin. He’s been advocating for team-building exercises for approximately an hour, yet here he is waiting for someone else to go first.

“Dude, how am I supposed to know?” Awsten says.

“Your idea,” Vir says. “You start.”

Awsten turns to Fletcher. “What’s interesting about us?”

“Synesthete?” Fletcher suggests.

“Oh, right,” Awsten says. “I have synesthesia. It's that thing where people see music. Or— more like sound has color.”

“Cool,” Geoff mutters.

“Huh. All sounds?” Otto asks. “Does it get distracting having colors all over your vision? Can you drive?”

“You fucking idiot, I’ve driven you around a thousand times,” Awsten laughs.

“Then what’s it like?”

“I can see through it,” Awsten shrugs. “I mean, different sounds are different places, and sometimes a sound is really bright or annoying, but… fuck, I dunno how to explain it. You know when you think of words or memories, and you can envision what it looks like? But it doesn't obstruct your real vision, just, like, your mind’s eye? Even though sometimes you can’t ignore it. It’s like that. Oh, and it’s different for Fletch.” [1]

“He hears sound and sees color; I hear sound and taste stuff,” Fletcher says.

“That’s so cool,” Geoff says, starstruck. When Awsten looks at him, though, he blinks and smiles sheepishly. “I mean— sorry, that’s probably condescending-sounding. I guess that’s just how you experience the world all the time. I just think it would be cool if we could trade eyes for a day and see what it’s like.”

“Like how they say you can’t be sure that what we call red and what you call red are the same thing?” Eviredium interjects. “So trippy. Total mindfuck, but so cool. I wish we could trade eyes. Or ears? Whatever makes it different for you.”

“I think it’s a brain thing. My head’s wired different,” Awsten says absently. He’s too happy about how smoothly this conversation is going to really care.

“My point stands,” Vir says. “Otto, what about you?”

“Huh?” Otto says.

“What’s something cool about you?” Geoff asks.

“Oh. Uh… what do you want to know?” Otto asks right back.

“Why drums?” Vir asks after a pause. “Or— hah, why bass? Correction: why rhythm?”

Otto smiles. “Oh, that’s an easy one. My dad and uncle have this rock band, made it decades ago. I grew up listening to them. They’ve never had a full-time drummer, though, so when I wanted to play music I thought if I got good enough, I could play for them someday. That’s kinda a big picture goal of mine.” [2]

“I see how it is,” Awsten says in a faux-stuck-up voice. “You’re just using us to get to _them_.”

“Damn, you caught me,” Otto says. “Anything else y’all wanna know? That wasn’t… like, it’s not super deep. Just family history.”

“Deep, huh?” Geoff asks.

“I got one,” Awsten says. But then he hesitates and crosses his arms. “Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t know what Terraxir _is_.”

Geoff’s eyes widen and he looks down at Terra too. “Yeah, me neither! What are you?”

“How could anyone ever take offense from that?” Otto chuckles.

“No offense taken. I’m a pretty obscure species,” Terra admits.

“She’s a— what’s the actual name? Is it just Asian golden cat?” Otto asks, tapping his fingers along her fur.

“I think. I can’t remember the scientific name,” Terra says. “Puma somethin’. But yeah, they’re from China and Thailand and stuff.”

“Asian golden cat, there you go. Wanna hear something hardcore?” Otto asks. “I guess superstition says burning their fur scares away tigers, so locals burn them to death.”

“Unfortunately, that’s now an ongoing phobia,” Terra nods.

Awsten winces in sympathy. He’s always felt bad for people who’s daemons settle as something that humans kill regularly. That sort of social mindset could fuck with a person’s head. Especially with something as gruesome as your daemon being burned to death.

“That is hardcore. _Super_ hardcore,” Geoff says. “I don’t have anything cool, by the way. Grew up in San Fran, lived here from high school on. That’s it.” [3]

“What?” Fletcher exclaims. “No, c’mon! You’re an _adult_ , you’ve gotta have some cool stories.”

“Being an adult just means I can legally drink,” Geoff says. Then, he rubs at his chin. “Which— well, now that I think about it just means I spend more money, but my point is you two are adults, too. It’s not all that fun.”

“Well yeah, nobody wants to have to pay taxes,” Awsten says. “But that’s not a secret. We already knew that. What don’t we know about you?”

Geoff pauses at this, thinking for a few moments. When he speaks, he’s slow and thoughtful when he says, “I think I believe in fate.”

“Cosmic fate?” Otto asks. “Destiny and everything?”

“I dunno. I guess I believe in this band a lot. You guys have way more experience than me, probably, ‘cause I’ve never been in a band but… I really feel like we’re doing what we need to do,” Geoff says. “Awsten always acted task-oriented, but he— it’s not just an act. Awsten, you do have that dedication, for real.”

“Well, yeah,” Awsten shrugs. “Music is do-or-die for me.”

“It’s not for me. Or— it _wasn’t_. But this band, I feel like we could do anything and pull it off,” Geoff says. “Not like we’ll be fated for success. Just that we’re really doing what we need to be doing. Destiny.”

“Are we the only ones?” Vir asks.

“No,” Fletcher says. “That’s what we feel like. We have potential.”

“Terra?” Vir asks.

Terra’s tail flicks behind her. “Uh. I believe we’re good, yeah. We’re good. Not sure where we’ll end up, but… I’m glad to be here.”

“I believe that you two believe,” Otto says carefully. “That’s enough for us.”

Awsten spares a glance at Geoff, who looks the slightest bit like his heart is broken.

“I’m here for good,” Otto says quickly, apparently noticing Geoff’s expression too. He pushes himself back to sit up, and Terra crawls out from under his arms to press up against Vir’s side. “I won’t give up on the band or anything. You guys are— both of you are already some of my best friends. I’m here as long as you are, but I’m just not sure how far we’ll make it.”

“ _Far_ ,” Awsten says, answering a question that wasn’t asked. “We’re gonna make it. You’ll see.”

“Fuck yeah,” Geoff grins.

Otto smiles helplessly. “But—“

“Believe in the power of friendship,” Vir shouts, bumping her body against Terra. “Believe! Terra, _believe_!”

“Fine,” Terra yelps. “Friendship is magic, or whatever! I believe! Are you happy?”

“A minor victory,” Vir proclaims dramatically. “Someday we’ll get _Awsten_ to admit that our destiny is bound by friendship and not just talent.”

“I believe in friendship,” Awsten says in protest.

“Oh yeah?” Geoff asks.

“Yeah, and I can prove it! Do you guys wanna meet Jawn?”

* * *

By all logic, throwing together your ex-band members, long-time BFFs and newly-confirmed friends shouldn’t work out.

On the night when the Mayan Calendar runs out, it does. [4]

There must be something about Jawn hanging around with a set of editing headphones and a grin that makes Awsten feel like he’s okay because, for the whole night, he’s more himself than he has been with anyone in months. He lets Geoff instigate roughhousing, and gives Otto a piggyback ride, and makes an audio file of screaming torment just to make everyone laugh. Fletcher sings a duet for a demo and plays _The Floor Is Lava_ by hopping around on Terra and Vir and briefly even Damara. The mood is so easy to fall into. Of course, Awsten still gives Geoff shit for fucking up, but now he’s grinning and Geoff doesn’t look like he’s scared of being actually told off.

They settle into Jawn’s presence pretty well, too. At first, they only talk to him when Awsten’s already doing so, but he also catches Jawn and Geoff having a conversation about Smash on his way back from the bathroom.

Terra, around 2 AM, mentions how hyper and sleep-deprived they all are. “I haven’t felt like this since middle school. And I’ve _never_ seen Awsten this way.”

“Fuck off,” Awsten says, but he’s joking.

“All credit to Jawn, I guess,” Otto shrugs.

“I’m the Awsten Whisperer,” Jawn says proudly. “I unlock the nerd in him.”

“The nerd’s gonna disappear real quick if you keep making fun of him,” Awsten warns.

“And here I thought you learned your life lesson about being yourself,” Jawn sighs.

“I did,” Awsten says, sitting up on the couch. “I did. I can’t stand not being honest. It’s just— we can’t have fun like this every night. That’s impractical.”

“Balance is the key,” Geoff says. “You know, like in Karate Kid, when they’re beating up Cobra Kai punks?”

“Yes,” Jawn nods sagely. “Now you’re learning. Movie references are the way to his heart.”

“You’re both idiots,” Awsten says.

Otto sighs. “Fuck, now all I can think of is Kobra Kid from Danger Days.”

“You’re ALL idiots,” Awsten amends.

“Let’s plan a music video!” Fletcher interjects.

“Oh fuck yes,” Vir exclaims.

“Can it be action-style?”

“We are NOT copying an MCR video for our first MV, Otto!”

“Oh, c’mon, that is _not_ what I said.”

They argue over serious Oscar-worthy acting versus fucking around on camera and ultimately decide that they should do both, simultaneously, as soon as possible. And then they keep talking and talking through the night, taking breaks for music and snacks and stepping outside to make jokes about suburban horror.

* * *

New Year’s is a similar blur for the most part.

He spends it with Otto’s family and friends. It works out great Awsten knows he and Fletcher have been talking all night, making jokes about getting drunk and spontaneously gaining a gruff accent. They’ve been buying last minute fireworks and eating lobster and taping signs that say ‘PCP’ and ‘XXXXX’ over grape juice bottles to make them look like shitty imitations of spiked beverages. It’s been chaotic, but he’s surprisingly calm now, as he sits on the curb of the smoke-foggy street. [5]

Awsten knows that he's not done. He forgot how much work it was to get to know someone, but he's done it before and he's willing to do it again. And he's always cared about being honest, almost nothing compares to the feeling in his chest now that he's not pretending to be something he's not. He wonders if this is why he's a bird; the deep need to be free both in passion and emotion. All he knew before was that he was born to make music. Now…

Otto’s riding around on a unicycle carrying a sparkler, which Awsten would never have believed was within Otto’s ability until he saw it. _It must be Terra’s tail that keeps them balanced,_ Awsten bets.

Geoff couldn’t make it; said he needed to rest because he has work the next morning— this morning(?) Either way, they’d called him just after midnight to wish him a happy new year before bed. They’d said “I love you,” like it was easy. It _was_ easy.

Awsten had meant to say it as a joke. It hadn’t come out that way.

“New Year’s resolutions are dumb,” Awsten says to himself.

Fletcher nods. “Yeah. We were on the right track already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This explanation of synesthesia is totally inspired by Melissa McCracken because I’m not a synesthete and she has a way with words. https://youtu.be/kvPd3wH21z8  
> [2] So idk what the band actually is and I don’t feel like stalking the internet to find it, but according to Otto, his family is music-heavy. https://www.rocksound.tv/news/read/waterparks-otto-wood-would-most-like-to-collaborate-with-his-own-dad-uncle  
> [3] Geoff’s from the Bay Area :) https://youtu.be/8lHoIgnaRy4  
> [4] I’m a big fan of this video and its chaotic energy. https://youtu.be/FUAwJiqLxeE  
> [5] Chaotic AND wholesome,,, https://youtu.be/1PYQzqs8XeE

**Author's Note:**

> Awsten - scissor-tailed flycatcher - Fletcher  
> Otto - asian golden cat - Terraxir  
> Geoff - dalmation - Eviredium  
> Bradley - common brown lemur - Lystaev  
> Gage - ouessant sheep - Israchey  
> Jawn - hummingbird - Damara  
> Travis - leopard gecko - Fyrmah


End file.
